


His Martian Queen

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [25]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Phrack Fucking Friday, Yes I know it's early, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: London, 1929, in the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Jack and Phryne are happily cohabitating, and they’ve received an invitation to yet another fancy dress party being thrown by Phryne’s cousin Guy and his Isabella. Whatever will they wear?





	His Martian Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



> An early PFF and Christmas present for you, my friend! I'm gonna be out of town on the day itself (and time zones confuse me - better to be safe), and I know that, like me, you like to imagine these two throwing off their day-to-day personas and taking on new ones. Plus shagging. Happy Christmas & New Year! ♥

“I’ve got it!”

Jack looked up from his book to where Phryne stood in the doorway of their bedroom. The wingback chairs that flanked the room’s fireplace had become his favorite spot in the flat they’d taken in London. Well, his second-favorite spot, after their large, warm bed.

“You’ve got what?” He smiled at her, as he often did—as he often couldn’t help himself from doing. She still wore her coat, a brilliant red woollen number with black piping and buttons, and her winter hat—red felted wool a few shades darker than the coat, it was trimmed in black and had a rather large black-and-purple flower affixed to one side. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes sparkled. Setting down the shopping bags she carried, she tugged off her purple leather gloves—only Phryne Fisher—and tucked them into her coat pocket as she approached him.

“Our costumes for Guy and Isabella’s New Year’s Eve party, of course,” she said, pulling off her hat and running her fingers through her hair.

“Does mine involve me showing off my legs?”

“Not this time, darling. Though I still say you would have pulled off that Marc Antony costume beautifully.” Shrugging out of her coat, she draped it over the back of the other armchair, then moved toward him.

“The world will never know,” he said, his tone dry. Setting his book aside on the small table between the two chairs, he opened his arms to receive her. She snuggled into his lap and buried her nose in his neck. 

“Augh!” He raised one shoulder, trapping her face as her nose—icy cold from her time outdoors—touched his skin. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, the rest of her warm and fragrant and all Phryne.

She giggled and pressed closer, her laughter filling him with joy. Sliding a hand between them, he covered her nose, holding her as she squirmed. Finally, she wrapped a hand around his wrist and pulled his hand down to rest against her chest. He dipped his head and caught her mouth with his, kissing her slowly.

“Mmm,” she said as the kiss came to a natural end, both of them breathing more heavily than they had been, and Jack’s hand on her sternum having slid to cover her breast through the thin jumper she wore. “Aren’t you a little curious about what our costumes will be, Jack?” She nipped gently at his lower lip, and he caught his breath. 

Raising his head, he let his eyes trail across her face and down to where his fingers lightly stroked the point of her nipple through the deep purple silk knit.

“Of course,” he managed, trying to ignore the rise of arousal. “What kind of trouble will you be getting us into this time, Miss Fisher?”

“Well, I thought it might be fun to dress as John Carter and Dejah Thoris,” she said, her own voice breathless, her hand snaking over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. She arched slightly into his fingers, her eyes heavy-lidded. 

Jack considered this. He’d introduced her to Edgar Rice Burroughs’ books and she’d enjoyed the tales of John Carter’s adventures on a planet far from their own. And she’d particularly liked Dejah Thoris, a princess who became queen to John Carter’s king. It was not a bad idea, though… “Didn’t John Carter wear a sort of kilt and bandoliers?”

“I was thinking of the cover of _Warlord of Mars_ ,” Phryne admitted. “More a toga-like robe that fastened at the shoulders. You have wonderful arms, Jack.” She slid her other hand down his shirt sleeve, squeezing lightly.

“Hm,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again and pinching her nipple lightly so that she gasped under his mouth. “As I recall that cover, the robe only covers him from about his sternum to his ankles. It’s rather cold to be bare-chested, Miss Fisher,” he mused, “and that’s a lot of skin to show, even for a fancy-dress ball.” 

“Oh goodness, Jack,” she said, pressing closer. He heard her shoes fall to the ground beside the chair— _thunk_ and _thunk_ —and she pulled against his shoulders to shift up and straddle his lap, her trousered knees tucked beside his hips. He pushed forward in the seat to give her room to sit astride him, the heat of her aligned with the hardness of him. “This is Guy and Isabella’s party we’re talking about, and they are terribly fast. She told me that at their engagement party, she only wore the stocking of that Godiva costume to appease my aunt.” 

Jack huffed out a laugh. He could believe it. Isabella was unconcerned about what other people thought of her, unless they thought her dull.

“At any rate, there will undoubtedly be people showing more skin there.” Phryne looped her arms around his neck with a sultry smile. “Though I will admit to some preference for _your_ skin, darling.”

She leaned in to kiss him, her mouth avid, and his hands began to wander, pushing up her sweater and hooking under her brassiere to push it up as well. Her skin was so soft—he never tired of touching it—and the way she gasped when he covered her naked breasts with his hands could not fail to thrill him. The weight of her against his cock was delicious, and in no time at all he was straining against his trousers. She rocked against him, whimpering lightly as he toyed with her nipples, her teeth catching at his lower lip and her hand sliding up the back of his head to fist in his hair.

When she released his mouth, her eyes on his, he struggled to find his voice. He had to swallow hard, and the sly tilt of her smile told him that she noticed.

“And Dejah Thoris?” His voice was rough and creaking, an illustration of the state of his body, but he managed to get the question out, so he considered it a win. “Her robe also bares skin, if I recall that cover correctly.”

“Oh yes,” Phryne breathed as she pressed her sex against his, and in that moment, he wasn’t certain whether she was responding to his question or to the pressure of his cock against her clit. “She does. Her shoulders, mostly, I think. Her gown—mmmm—is strapless, and she wears the most marvelous arm bands and chatelaine.” She kissed him, and the smiling curve of her lips sent a shaft of joy to his heart. “And a crown.”

“Can’t forget the crown,” Jack managed, before pushing upward to strip her sweater and brassiere off and over her head. She obliged him, raising her arms; when he tossed her clothing aside, she took his breath away with the languid way she returned her hands to his shoulders, unselfconscious in her nakedness. “Beautiful,” he breathed, running his hands down her arms.

“Touch me, Jack.” The command was soft, her tone tender, and he met her eyes as he obeyed.

“Yes, my queen,” he breathed, stroking his hands back up her arms and down the silky length of her back. When he reached her waist, he brought his hands to her front, his thumbs meeting over her belly button. Keeping his eyes there, fascinated by the way his hands could cover her entire belly, he slowly stroked upward until he cupped the lower curves of her breasts between his thumbs and forefingers. Her chest moved as she fought for breath, and her pink nipples were hard and distended. His mouth watered with the urge to taste them.

“Jack,” she breathed, and he leaned in. 

He groaned as her nipple met his tongue—he could not get enough of the flavors of her, salt and sweetness with a little bitterness lingering from the perfume she’d dabbed between her breasts. Taking a deep breath, his eyes fluttered closed as her scent—musk and flowers and the spice that was Phryne—hit his nose. She arched backward, her hands moving up his neck to cup his head, fingers spearing into his hair as he lavished attention on her warm flesh. 

He alternated breasts, suckling at first one, then the other, his fingers following to toy with the neglected side. Phryne’s hips began to move against him, surging in the rhythm he used against her, pressing and releasing against the hard ridge in his trousers. Small whimpers of pleasure fell from her lips as he worked; he knew when she watched him and when the sensations pushed her to loll her head gently backward. She worked herself against him, her breath quickening and her fingers clenching and unclenching against his scalp.

His breathing heavy, Jack slid one hand down to her waistband, flicking the fastenings open and sliding inside. The silk of her knickers was soft, but not as soft as her skin, and he pushed beneath them to cup her sex. His fingers slid easily through the wetness that coated her lower lips, and he burrowed gently between them to trace a path around the opening to her body and upward to where her clit shyly called attention to itself with its stiff heat.

“Jack,” she breathed, her head falling forward now, her breath against his ear as he pleasured her with his fingers and his tongue. “Please, Jack.”

With a sudden surge, Jack pushed two fingers deep inside her body, his mouth suckling strongly at her nipple at the same moment. Phryne’s cry of pleasure was soft but intense, and her hands fisted in his hair as she began to move her body on his hand. His name mixed with impolite words that, before he’d met Phryne, he would have assumed a lady wouldn’t know, and he felt himself hardening further. Nothing gave him more pleasure than making Phryne Fisher come apart.

He raised his head to watch her face as her movement against his hand grew more frantic; his thumb strummed at her clitoris and she scrunched her eyes closed, her cheeks flushing as she chased her orgasm.

“So beautiful,” he breathed, and she opened her eyes to meet his gaze, a sultry smirk curving her red-slicked mouth.

Wordlessly, Phryne leaned in, her mouth covering his even as she moved her hips against his hand. She arched against him, and he felt the hardened tips of her breasts through the thin fabric of his shirt. His mouth never leaving hers, he added a third finger to the ones inside her body, and she opened her mouth against his, a silent scream of pleasure. Her body shook as the climax moved through her, and her hand in his hair pulled almost painfully. 

Even as she continued to shake, he extricated his hand from her trousers and wrapped his arm around her waist, using the other to help push himself to standing. Phryne wrapped her legs around his hips and buried her head in his shoulder as Jack took the few steps to their bed, a wide four-poster built of strong dark wood. With one hand, he threw back the covers and laid her gently against the pillows; when he straightened, he hooked his hands into the sides of her trousers and pulled them down her legs and off. She propped herself on her elbows to watch him quickly and efficiently divest himself of his own clothes, her knees falling open and the scent of her pleasure perfuming the air. She slid one hand up to her breast, squeezing gently, and the sight of her pointed nipple protruding between her fingers sent a jolt of lust through him.

Climbing onto the bed, he pushed her knees up, situating himself between her thighs.

“Your device?” He ground the words out as the tip of his cock met her slick folds. The heat of her was a torment; he wanted nothing more than to drive himself into her, to feel her come apart around him and to empty himself inside her body.

“In place,” she responded, her voice breathy with need. “Jack, please.”

In answer, he pushed, the sensation of entry one that he would never tire of. She opened her mouth as she arched against him, a low, hissed “yes” escaping her. Jack held her eyes as he filled her, loving the way she opened for him, the way she fit him, snug and wet and wonderful.

“Phryne,” he breathed, leaning forward to kiss her as he began a rhythm of long strokes in and out. He loved to make her wait, to prolong their lovemaking so that her pleasure rolled in hard and long, but he knew he’d not manage that tonight. The need for release was riding him, and he didn’t plan to deny himself.

His desire for her often caught him by surprise—he’d not missed lovemaking since he and Rosie had stopped sharing a bed, and he hadn’t felt the need to seek out a willing partner after their divorce had been final. Even Phryne, whose vivacious energy had seemed to awaken him from a long slumber, had not tempted him to break his marriage vows, and once those vows were in pieces, he’d been too broken himself to consider it. He’d enjoyed her friendship, and loving her from afar had been enough for him—after all, it was safer for his heart that way; he hadn’t had the strength to challenge the status quo. It had taken Concetta’s proposal—and his inability to take her up on it—to make him realize that he only wanted to trust his body and his heart to one woman. This woman. 

And this woman had shown him in so many ways that she welcomed all of his urges—she enjoyed the gentle lovemaking that had been a staple in his marriage, but she also wanted his less gentlemanly urges. Indeed, she expected him to let go of his own inhibitions in the bedroom, to meet her measure for measure. For Jack, who’d spent his life reining himself in, it was a delicious freedom that he thought he’d never tire of.

Now, that freedom took the form of a rough sort of fucking that he had only ever fantasized about. Breaking away from her kiss, he knelt up between her thighs, catching her knees over his arms and spreading her wide as he slewed his hips against hers. He watched her reach to brace herself with a palm against the headboard, her other hand sliding down to clutch at his thigh, her fingernails digging into his skin.

She was vocal in her appreciation of his efforts, a steady stream of “yes” and “Jack” in addition to curses echoed in the room along with his heaving breath and the steady slapping of his flesh against hers. He watched as she arched, her breasts bouncing, as his cock appeared and disappeared between her thighs. In his opinion, she was even more beautiful in her abandon—with her hair mussed and her color high and her lipstick smudged across her cheek from the attentions of his mouth—than when she was at her most put together.

He closed his eyes halfway and let his head fall backward, luxuriating in the heat of her, the pull of her sex against his, the wet slide of their arousal as his rhythm of plunge and withdrawal began to speed up. Orgasm built at the bottom of his spine and spread through his pelvis to the point at which they were joined; it seeped along his skin, ready to overtake him in an agony of bliss, and he welcomed it, this feeling that only she had engendered in him. When he felt the first flutters of her release, he raised his head and slid one hand down her thigh to pinch her clit gently between thumb and forefinger—she would be tender there after her earlier release, and he had no intention of hurting her, but sometimes she needed just a little encouragement to—

Phryne wailed as she came, her teeth clenching and her body curling up to meet his as her thighs shook. The hard pulses of her internal muscles along the length of his cock was a sensation that Jack adored, and he gritted his teeth against his own release just so that he could enjoy it a moment longer. When he let himself fall into pleasure, he bent over her, his hips stuttering into hers, each pulse of his climax a short, sharp thrust of its own.

Allowing her legs to slide down to his hips, he lowered himself atop her, his head resting on her breastbone and his flesh still buried within her. After a few moments, he felt her hands slide into his hair, petting him lightly. He breathed her in as he concentrated on calming his breathing; her heart was pounding as hard as his, and her chest moved as she drew in great gulps of air.

“So can I take it that you like my costume idea?” Phryne asked, breathless laughter threading through her voice. 

“Wait, were we talking about costumes? I thought you were seducing me,” Jack rumbled, hiding his smile against her skin. 

Phryne laughed and stroked her hands down his back. “Well, of course I was seducing you,” she murmured, dragging her fingernails back up his skin. “I know how you love your novels.”

Jack grinned, stretching up to press a kiss to her lips. Disengaging, he laid down beside her, one hand on her belly, and propped his head on his other fist to look down at her. 

“The things you talk me into, Miss Fisher,” he murmured, and this time he didn’t bother to hide his smile.

“I’m on to your tricks, Jack Robinson,” she retorted. “You enjoy adventure. Admit it!”

“I didn’t,” he said, his eyes warm on hers. “Before.”

“You did,” she countered, lifting one hand to cup his jaw, one shoulder lifting in a shrug that did interesting things to her breasts. “You just had to give yourself permission to pursue it.”

Jack felt a prickling at the back of his eyes. She knew him well, his queen. Swallowing hard, he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm, his eyes sliding shut as he breathed her in. Sex, French perfume, and woman. His favorite. 

“You’re my greatest adventure,” he murmured, the words muffled against her skin.

“Oddly enough, Jack Robinson,” she whispered, her voice almost shy, “I think you might well be mine.”

Blinking, he turned to look at her, and the expression of soft wonder she wore overcame him. He leaned in wordlessly and covered her mouth with his, the kiss deep and gentle and full of all the love he felt for this bright and brilliant woman. 

Jack settled beside her on the bed with a sigh—they’d have to get up and dress again soon enough, but for now, he tugged the covers up and over them both, and she nestled her head against his chest. He might yet have cause to regret having given in to this costume idea of hers, but he couldn’t regret coming to join her. Wherever this adventure led, he’d follow, and he knew he’d be the better for it.

**Author's Note:**

> Phryne's costume idea was inspired by [this book cover](http://www.erbzine.com/mag4/warlord.jpg).
> 
> Just a quick note about this ridiculous fic: I was thinking about my friend deedeeinfj and how I hadn't had a chance to talk to her for a while, and at the same time looking for a good PFF idea. The two thoughts came together as “hm, what if Phryne and Jack were invited as a couple to one of Guy and Isabella’s parties?” I mused to my writing buddies, at which point a ficathon organizer (who wishes to remain anonymous) pointed out that deedeeinfj had submitted a ficathon prompt that fit, that she knew the person who'd been assigned them wasn't doing it, and that the prompt itself would eventually end up on the "up for grabs" list. Really, it was serendipity - it seemed too perfect not to write it! So this is for the unused ficathon prompt "Phryne and Jack have another costume party to go to, and this time they pick their costumes together."
> 
> There was actually _supposed_ to be a party scene in this, and I had planned to actually get them in the costumes. It was going to culminate in these two idiots sneaking off for some nookie because Isabella was being very... forward in her flirting with Jack (I mean, who wouldn’t be, in that costume. Or in any costume, really… sorry, I where was I?) and Phryne was going to have to stake her claim somehow. Ah well, maybe another day. I hope you enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
